


The vision that was planted in my brain (still remains)

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Series: The Sound of Silence [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Ex-Legion Courier, Gen, Trans Male Character, all couriers are chaotic dumbasses, i have simply added another, it's pronounced Percy, mute courier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: A chaotic dumbass, silent and sure, wakes up in a hospital bed with a bullet wound to the head, a missing eye, and a slit throat.He may have the worst luck in the Mojave.
Series: The Sound of Silence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615609
Kudos: 10





	The vision that was planted in my brain (still remains)

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen back into New Vegas, and I realized that I've been writing the DLCs without ever actually introducing my Courier. I'm not sure if this is going to be a long story or not, but this is my particular brand of idiot. 
> 
> And for those interested, [this is what he looks like,](https://imgur.com/a/ebwTY4i) as made on a dollmaker because I can't draw and the character creator didn't work quite well enough for me.

**_Run. Run. Run. Don’t stop running. Don’t stop or they’ll catch you. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t STOP-_ **

He wakes with a start, sitting upright and groaning as the sharp motion makes his head throb.

“Woah, woah, easy there, easy,” a voice soothes.

He peers at the strange voice, squinting - his vision is weird, why isn’t his left eye opening - and a balding man comes into focus. The man sitting in a chair, watching him closely, gently pressing him back into the bed.

“You been out cold a couple of days now,” the man says. “Why don’t you relax for a second, get your bearings. Let’s see what the damage is.”

_Everything hurts. Ow, my head. My head, my face, my everything._

“Don’t try to talk now. I don’t know what happened to you, but you definitely got some bad luck, boy,” the man says softly, “How about your name? Do you remember your name?”

Name. Some part of him knows that the name is important. His head hurts so much, but after a minute of straining, a hand pressed against his forehead, it pops in. A short name, only a few letters, but it’s there. He nods slightly and lowers his finger to spell it out on the couch.

P

E

R

S

E

“Per say?” The man reads.

Perse frowns, shaking his head slightly. _It’s my_ ** _name,_** _it’s mine, damnit, you’ll say it right._

“‘Percy’?” He tries again, and this time, Perse nods with approval. “Well, can’t say it’s what I would have picked for you, Perse, but if that’s your name, that’s your name. I’m Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings.”

_Am I supposed to know where that is?_

“I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go rooting around in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but some damage was done. Hopefully I didn’t leave too much out of place.” Doc Mitchell hands over a mirror for him to look at. “Bullet went in straight, but I gotta feeling someone took issue with you staring at them after you got shot.”

Perse takes the mirror hesitantly, fingers shaking, and lifts it up to eye level. His eyebrows shoot up in horror, his mouth dropping open. It’s his dark skin, his freckles, his auburn hair, and his pierced ears, but…

Perse doesn’t remember a whole lot, but from what little he remembers, he had two eyes before he got shot in the head.

His left eye is gone, a jagged scar cutting through it and the skin sewn up neatly over it. The remaining eye stares in horror at his reflection. It’s still green, but it’s deeply bloodshot. He reaches up slowly to touch the scar, dirty fingers moving across the dulled skin. Some part of him wants to cry, to curl up in a ball and pretend that this never happened. But the other part…oh, the other part is _angry._

He sees what Doc Mitchell was talking about earlier as well. Lowering the mirror slightly, Perse sees an ugly scar across his neck. It’s just below where an Adam’s apple would be, if he had one, and it spreads from side to side. Someone slit his throat. Bad luck indeed.

Out of curiosity, Perse tries to speak. His mouth opens as he tries to say hello, and nothing comes out. In fact, it _hurts_ to do it, like he’s grinding glass into it. He coughs, grabbing at his throat, the mirror dropping to the sofa. Michell makes a tsking sound and hands him a bottle.

“Drink up. I don’t know what kind of damage was done, but it’s a miracle you’re alive. Doubly so.”

Perse sips the water slowly, taking his time to sit up properly. His legs cross as he drinks. Some of the water drips down onto his shirt and he looks down.

Wait. _What the hell are those?_

“Ah,” Doc Mitchell hums. “Sorry about that. I had to undo your binding, make sure that you were breathing and all. If you like, I can help you do it up again after I’m certain you’re all there."

Bound. That sounds right. Perse nods. _Yes. Please. I want my chest to be flat again._

“Alright. Let’s get you on your feet and run some tests. Make sure all your dogs are barking.”

* * *

Later, Perse takes a seat beside his former grave. One leg is crossed under him, the other hangs down into the hole - heh, one foot in the grave - and he leans his chin in his hand. His new rifle, courtesy of Sunny Smiles, rests across his lap, ready for any more bugs that might fly his way. That had taken some time to relearn. Apparently Perse knew how to shoot before, but now he only had one eye. His depth perception was shot. Sunny, to her credit, had just lined up bottle after bottle, giving him bullet after bullet, to relearn how to sink his shots. He doesn't get every single one, but he gets enough to be certain that it'll keep him alive. 

Now...now he gets to think. It's a dangerous thing, perhaps, but he has to try and plan out where he's going to go next.

His confirmed destiantion: the Vegas strip. That's where he was supposed to take his package, the platinum chip mentioned in the note, and that's where the man who shot him int he head went. Straining, Perse can picture him. In a frankly _ghastly_ coat, even, is that what people on the Strip think look fashionable? Is it fashionable? What does Perse know about fashion, because he's wearing a borrowed Vault suit and bandages and surely that's its own look? Either way, he's going to New Vegas. He is going to walk down the Strip, find the son of a bitch that shot him, shoot _him,_ take the chip back, and make his damn delivery.

What else? There has to be other things. What else...Perse clicks on his PipBoy, flipping through the pages, and stops at the memos. There's a recording - a holotape that's already been clicked into the PipBoy. Its name flickers across the screen: **A Letter To Myself.**

 _Hopefully I didn't think I was going to get shot in the head? Did I?_

He hits play and listens.

_“My name is Perse."_

Is that what his voice sounded like? Light and worried, with just a touch of a drawl. It…sounds right. That’s _him_. 

_"I got this Pipboy from a dead Vault dweller. It’s 2277, I am twenty-seven, and it’s been...six months since I left the Legion. I had to leave. They threw the Malpais Legate - Joshua Graham, Mr. Graham, the man who owned me - into the Grand Canyon covered in pitch on fire, and they killed every slave he owned. Apart from me. Dorothea helped me get out, I ran like the fucking wind, and I’ve been hiding since. It’s been...six months that I’ve been free. I missed it. I missed people not telling me what to do. I missed walking without being told where to go. I missed not having a collar on my neck. Gods, the feeling of a bare neck is amazing. I don't have to listen to Joshua read from scripture, no one is ever gonna call me 'Perse Graham' again, fuck I hated that, I never have to see Caesar's face again...I’m free and I’m not going back. I’d rather die than go back into that life. Although, knowing Caesar, they’re looking for me. Maybe they’ll crucify me too. They have to to send that message to the rest of the Legion. No one runs from Caesar and lives. Well...FUCK YOU, CAESAR. FUCK YOU. I’M NOT GOING BACK. FUCK YOU ALL. I’D RATHER BE A DEAD MAN THAN A SLAVE. MY NAME IS PERSE OF THE TWIN MOTHERS AND I AM A FREE MAN. If you want me, you bastards...you’d better catch me.”_

The recording ends. Perse stares at his PipBoy, eye shining with restrained feeling. A memory trickles in, foggy as anything: sitting on a fence post by some nowhere town, recording that while watching the sunset, and shouting with such joy that it scared the brahmin nearby. Perse chokes out a laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He instinctively wipes the scarred eye before remembering what it is and sighs. 

Did they catch him? Is that why his throat got slit? Maybe they did. It only makes sense. 

It doesn't quite feel like him. He'll have to listen to it again, to bury it deep in his brain until he remembers who he is. For now, he thinks it all through again.

_My name is Perse of the Twin Mothers. I was a Legion Slave. I am a slave no longer. I have to watch out for the Legion in case they recognize me. I am on my way to New Vegas and I am going to find the man who shot me in the head._

He lifts his foot out of the grave and gets to his feet. Reloading the rifle, he cocks it and puts it on his back. It's a long walk to the Strip, especially if he doesn't want to get torn apart by anything dangerous. He starts walking, ambling down the hill from the graveyard, the wind tousling his hair. Coyotes howl, their voices echoing in the air, and in the distance, Perse can faintly see the 

_This is going to be **fun.**_

* * *

_You are a courier, hired by the Mojave Express, to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like a simple delivery job has taken a turn…for the worse. According to a recorded message on your Pipboy (in addition to the delivery notice), your name is Perse. You were once a slave in Caesar's Legion, owned by the one and only Malpais Legate. When he fell from grace, you ran to avoid death, stole a Pipboy and clothes from a dead vault dweller, and recorded a message to yourself saying that you're free but being hunted by the Legion. Considering your scarred slit throat is not as old as the collar scars around your neck, but older than the bullet in your head, you suspect they caught you. You picked up a rifle and made the executive decision to not only try to deliver your package but find the man who shot you in the first place._


End file.
